


Shattered Dreams

by lacat123



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dean Winchester Saves Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester and Sam Winchester are Siblings, Dissociation, Gen, Hurt Sam Winchester, I Tried, Medical Inaccuracies, Post-Episode: s06e22 The Man Who Knew Too Much, Protective Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester Angst, Sam Winchester Being Sam Winchester, Sam Winchester Can't Catch a Break, Sam Winchester Deals With Things, Sam Winchester Deserves to be Happy, Sam Winchester Feels, Sam Winchester Has Mental Health Issues, Sam Winchester Has PTSD - Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Sam Winchester Makes Mistakes, Sam Winchester Needs Brain Bleach, Sam Winchester Needs a Hug, Sam Winchester Remembers Lucifer's Cage, Sam Winchester Tries, Sam Winchester Whump, Self-Harm, Self-Harming Sam Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-11
Updated: 2018-11-12
Packaged: 2019-08-22 09:26:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16595213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lacat123/pseuds/lacat123
Summary: "He didn’t feel anything. No pain, no happiness, no sadness. How could he?None of this was real, just a shattered dream."aka:The one in which Sam goes a little too far to get Lucifer out of his head.





	1. Shattered Dreams

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This one is pretty short, but there will be another chapter from Dean's perspective soon, so stay tuned. As always, comments feed me and provide helpful feedback, so please take a few seconds, jump to the bottom of this page, and write what you think! 
> 
> Warnings:  
> SELF HARM

Sam lay back on the bed, his head pounding in time with his heartbeat.

Dean was gone. He had left the motel room to get lunch, turning off the lights off and leaving Sam alone with his migraine.

Well, as alone as he could get with Lucifer inside his head.

For the past few days, he has been simply repeating Sam’s thoughts. It was slowly driving the man insane. Each idea, split-second impulse or irrational thought-

It brought out sides of him he never wants to see again.

He pressed a fingernail deep into his palm. The hard edge dug in, the little crescent it created causing spikes of pain in his palm. Still hearing his very own internal monologue, he pressed even harder, the nail going in just a little deeper in.

Lucifer flashed for a second before reappearing, as solid as before. It has been getting harder and harder to force him out of his mind. Needing more and more pain.

When the fallen angel started singing his chorus song from sixth grade, he dug the nail along the almost-healed cut that lined his palm. More arrows shot from his hand, pulsing up into his wrist. A few drops of blood spilled from where he had broken the newly-joined skin. Still, Luci was singing the refrain in his head, smirking at Sam’s failed attempt.

A thought entered his mind, one that had come up before, but he had shot down without a second thought. He would never get that bad. He would never break his promise. He would never-

“You would never cut yourself?” Lucifer’s happy, singing-like voice called out from the bed across from him. A shiver ran through Sam’s body at his innermost thoughts said so plainly. And so loudly.

But he did. He did want to cut deep into his skin, feel the pain radiate through his body. Watch as the blood flowed. Something had always held him back, never going farther then a fingernail to the palm, or, once, biting his cheek so hard he drew blood.

But with Satan coaxing him into it, his very own devil on his shoulder, he could sense his resolve slipping.

He sat up, then stood up slowly from the bed. His head pounded with each step.

He walked over to the light switch and flipped it. Bright light flooded the room, the flourescents bathing everything in harsh white.

Everything seemed a little too bright, artificial. Every line was etched too dark and deep. Nothing really seemed real as he crossed the short distance to the table.

On top of the wooden surface was the duffel bag that held all their weapons. Guns, rifles, machetes, stakes.

And knives.

He undid the zipper across the top, cursing when it caught on the fabric. Now that he had decided, made up his mind, he needed the blade on his skin, needed the pain. Every moment without it was pure torture.

He reached a hand into the depths of the bag, rummaging through it until his fingers closed around what he was looking for. It was a small box cutter, which they kept in there for cutting their palms for sigils.

He almost laughed at the irony. Dean, his one anchor against what he was doing now, had been the one to buy the blade he was going to cut himself with.

He remembered his brother's long talks with him back when he was a child. Life had been hard, but Dean was always there for him, to bring him back. He knew the toll that this life would have on his brother, he knew how close he was himself to that edge. So he made sure that little Sammy would never have that thought. That he would never want a blade to kiss his skin. He had made him promise.

He was breaking his promise now.

He walked stiffly back to the bed, sitting down near the corner. Each beat of his heart shot a bolt of lightning through his temples. The florescent lights were getting brighter and drowning out reality.

He wanted the pain to get rid of Lucifer in his mind, but also to keep him grounded.

This had been a favorite torture in the Cage. Slowly distorting his reality until the walls were curling in and the ceiling was spinning. Making him unsure what was real, blurring the lines of reality. That place always had this sense of falsehood, of intangibility. If this was how he felt then he had to be back there.

He didn’t know what was real, so he wasn’t real. He didn’t feel anything.

He couldn't feel anything.

He needed to feel something.

He looked over his skin, trying to decide which area to try first. He thought about his palm or wrist, but the idea of Dean seeing it, the disappointment he’d have knowing he'd broken their promise.

So that left his legs. Or ribs. 

He reached down and undid the button and fly on his jeans before pulling them off. He tossed the discarded clothes over into the corner. He’d deal with that later.

He took a deep breath, tried to tune out Lucifer’s silent judging, and settled the blade just on his upper thigh

The first swipe was pure relief, pure freedom. His head was clear, although it still pounded.

The dreamworld he had been in was shattered.

There was no more singing, taunting. It was just-

Him.

He sighed with relief. He was free from the burden he’d been carrying since getting his memories back.

Hell, the burden he'd been carrying since he was fourteen and Dean had walked in on him in the bathroom, his new knife he'd gotten for his birthday about to break his skin.

But as he looked down at the barely-bleeding cut on his thigh, he heard him again.

“You didn’t think you could get rid of me that easy, did ya, Sammy?” Lucifer laughed.

That laugh was the worst thing to exist. That laugh was what haunted his nightmares, what sent a shiver down his spine. That laugh had been one of the only sounds in the Cage and it had never left him.

The lights slowly changed back to how they were before, and the lines between reality and hallucination ceased to exist.

He was in the Cage, Dean's face taunting him as he tortured him on a rack.

He was on a bed in a hotel room with Lucifer riding shotgun in his head.

He was fifteen and was crying as his brother held him tight and told him everything would be alright, if he just held on. He just needed to hold on.

The edge of the box cutter was back on his thigh, digging into the small crease he had left before.

But even as pain spiked through his leg and into his foot, even as red blood slipped down his skin, he wasn't sure who he was. Where he was.

He looked down at what he logically knew was his body, but at the same time just couldn’t be. This wasn’t real. None of this was real. It was all an illusion.

He faintly noticed that the voice was no longer speaking to him, that he was alone again. But he just continued to stare down at his too-bloody leg.

He did notice the room begin to spin, him slowly falling off the bed and onto the floor, but he didn’t feel it.

He didn’t feel anything. No pain, no happiness, no sadness. How could he?

None of this was real, just a shattered dream.


	2. Broken Promises

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here is the second part! Hope y'all like it! I may continue this if people like it.
> 
> P.S. The medical stuffs is all researched online, so some may not be accurate. Sorry in advance. 
> 
> Warnings:  
> Aftermath of self-harm

Dean strode smoothly across the motel parking lot. He whistled softly the song he had been listening to in the car. In one hand he carried a plastic bag filled with their lunch, and in the other he had the room and car keys.

He had just been at the closest corner store, buying some junk food and pie for himself and a salad for Sammy when something had twisted in his stomach.

Something was wrong.

So he had paid for the food and raced back here as fast as he could. It could be nothing; but it could also be everything. If their was one thing he trusted, it was his gut.

A few seconds later he reached the door, fitting the key into the lock and turning it. He had been about to call out to Sam and tell him he was back when he was confronted with the state of the room.

The lights were back on, and their weapons bag was open. A pair of jeans was tossed in the corner. The ugly off-white sheets on Sammy's bed were stained red. And his brother was laid out on the floor.

He distantly realized he had dropped the food in shock as he raced to Sam’s side, the salad spilling open.

The first thing that struck him was that he wasn’t wearing pants. He would almost laugh at that later, seeing as the second was how much blood covered his body. It coated his leg, side, and arm and pooled around him.

And it was growing.

He turned Sam towards him. His face was pale and sweaty, his breathing a little fast. He searched his body, trying to see where all the blood was coming from. He cursed when he saw the deep cut on his thigh.

It looked like a stab wound. Blood gushed freely from the open flesh, spreading across his entire body. What the hell had happened during the ten minutes he had left?

As he reached down with his hand to try to wipe away some of the blood, he saw just how much was flowing out of the cut.

Son of a Bitch.

There must be a nick on his artery. It couldn’t have happened less than two minutes ago or he would have already bled out.

Judging by the amount of blood he had lost, Dean knew his brother was in danger of shock. Or even-

No. He would save him, like always. But he needed a hospital.

He pulled his flannel shirt off his shoulders, and used it to apply pressure on the wound.

Dean said every curse he knew when he realized it wouldn’t be enough, that it was bleeding too much.

Their dad had taught them how to make a tourniquet. He knew that it might not be totally effective with an arterial bleed like this, but it was better than nothing. He just needed Sam to hold on until he could get him to a hospital.

He searched quickly around for something to use as a windlass and to secure it. His gaze fell on the box cutter laying in Sam’s open palm.

Everything connected slowly in his mind. He knew about Sam pressing his hand into the cut on his palm.

Hell, he had told him to do it.

But he never thought it would go this far.

He had never thought he would break his promise.

He felt his breathing quicken, blackness creeping around the edges, but forced himself to remain calm.

He needed to save Sammy.

He reached over to grab the box cutter to use as the windlass. He looked down and was startled at how much the amount of blood had grown. He quickly closed the blade, and reached over for his car keys. They hanged off a key ring which he would use to secure the tourniquet. He managed to keep his breathing steady as he worked, but panic was just on the edge of his mind. The idea that Sam could have done this-

Less than a minute later, Dean pulled his brother into his arms. He later thought how odd they must have looked, Dean carrying someone Sam's size. Although the blood may have been a bit stranger.

Together, they raced back to the Impala. Laying him down in the backseat, he quickly shut the door and hopped into the front. The tires pealed as they pulled out from the parking lot and onto the road. Dean was driving down the highway obscenely fast, but safety was the last thing on his mind. He just needed to save Sam.

“It’s ok, Sammy. Everything is going to be ok.” His voice quivered slightly, a single tear sliding down his face. He glanced into the backseat, afternoon sunlight streaming through the window.

Sam’s face was white, his hair plastered against his forehead with sweat. Little tremors shook his body. He looked like he was going into shock.

Dean pressed the gas pedal down a little harder, finally pulling into the hospital’s emergency bay. He ran to the back and grabbed Sammy, pulling him close to his body.

He felt his fast heart rate and breathing, and how clammy his skin was.

Shit.

Together they ran into the ER, covered in blood and screaming for help. The secretary gasped when she saw them, immediately paging for assistance. The moments stretched into hours in Dean’s mind, waiting for someone to help them. Four nurses came over rolling a bed, followed by the doctor.

Dean laid his brother down on the gurney, watching as they rolled him away. Their voices faded in the distance, but he still could hear what they called out.

“Improvised tourniquet located on upper thigh, ”

“Patient going into hypovolemic shock,”

“Self-inflicted wound; lacerated femoral artery, possible suicide attempt,”

Dean flinched at the word ‘self-inflicted’, even more at 'suicide attempt'. Although he knew they were not far from the truth. He just didn’t understand what had driven Sammy this far.

What had caused his to break his promise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~You are loved, and never alone. We are here for you, and you are enough.~


End file.
